


A Prize To Pay

by Dans-le-Vif (Criz)



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: 1x08 The Challenge, M/M, Quick warning that I might ramble in the comments, also I might talk more freely than what I write about, be warned ye who comment here, because it happened last time, so comments could become longer than the actual work, so the comments might have a different rating, those two idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-30 05:36:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20809409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Criz/pseuds/Dans-le-Vif
Summary: set around the events of the episode of The Musketeers 1x08 The Challenge Cardinal Richelieu and Captain Tréville add a wager in private.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> knowing what happens in the episode The Challenge (1x08) helps, though in depth knowledge isn't required. The prior episode is also mentioned, though all you need to know is probably that an old friend of Richelieu tried to kill him.
> 
> this started on tumblr, wondering if there was something like a 'winner takes it all' thing concerning The Challenge, this took way more time than it should >_<
> 
> Again a quick warning that I might reply to comments with long answers and that said answers might go beyond the rating of the work itself

The group was walking along the corridor, the King ahead, followed by Tréville and Richelieu and several members of the King's hunting party. 

Tréville was furious. Richelieu was a complicated man at the best of times - complicated, demanding and irritable, but ever since the latest assassination attempt he was downright irrational, paranoid and infuriating beyond reason. 

And now this, the incident with Labarge was the tipping point that might undo the truce they had brokered between them.

"Captain Trudeau was given fair warning. His own arrogance killed him."

"Labarge is a regional Intendant. You had no business arresting him without coming to me first."

"Your Intendant is a violent criminal, who subjected Gascony to a reign of terror."

Louis stopped and turned around, bringing the whole group to a halt. 

"I went to Gascony once. It's full of sheep and hedges."

"It is true that Labarge exceeded his authority, but I was in the process of recalling him to Paris before Captain Treville so recklessly intervened."

Tréville knew this tactic, putting the blame on him and his Musketeers. He was trying to ignore the remark, but he might as well show Richelieu that this game could be played by the both of them.

"The Red Guards put innocent lives at risk!"

"The Musketeers were lucky my guards didn't kill them!"

Whatever shred of willpower Tréville had left to settle the matter in a civilized manner just evaporated with that statement. 

This was it, this was his tipping point. He had tried to be understanding those past few weeks, reassure Armand that not everyone around him was an assassin just waiting to kill him in some horrible fashion. 

But this kind of claim went too far and he had been close to running out of patience for a while and this finally did it.

"Oh, really? You know what?", the Captain bellowed, accentuating the words, "Any of my Musketeers could thrash any of your Red Guards at any time!"

The King sneered. 

"A 1,000 livres Captain Treville is right. Each side to chose his champion in a contest to settle the matter. What do you say, Cardinal? Do you accept the wager?"

Of course he did, he had to. "Shall we say ... 2,000 livres?"


	2. Chapter 2

Tréville stormed past the guards in front of the Cardinal's office. They glared at him, surely the news of the contest had already made the rounds. 

He glared back, did they really think they could intimidate him? He pushed the door open. 

"What the hell were you thinking?"

Richelieu sat at this desk and remained unfazed. "I could ask you the same thing."

"You started it with that outrageous claim."

The Cardinal raised an eyebrow. 

"They were lucky. No need to turn this into some ridiculous contest. You must have known that the King would take the bait."

"Luck has nothing to do with it, my champion will thrash yours!"

With the elbow propped on the arm of the chair, the Cardinal rested his face on his hand. 

"You sound awfully certain. Would you be willing to raise the stakes?"

The Captain scoffed. 

"What do you have in mind?"

"Once my champion puts yours in his place, I want you to go to the barracks and compliment the Red Guards on being the better regiment."

"You want me to lie to them?"

"You don't have to accept of you're afraid …"

How dare he? That insufferable, little ... that tone in his voice. 

"Fine. It won't come to that anyway."

"What about you? What do you want?"

What did he want indeed? 

Tréville averted his eyes, away from Richelieu as he thought about it and his gaze fell upon the desk. The heap of scrolls on it, maps and letters, there was no end to the paper that cluttered it. And thus there was no end to the tasks for Richelieu. 

He picked one up and flicked it towards the Cardinal.

"Get rid if it. Get rid of all of those," he gestured at the paperwork on the desk, 

"Then we'll see what comes next."

The Cardinal looked confused, he tilted his head. 

"Very well. I accept."

But Tréville had already turned on his heel and was storming out of Richelieu's office. 

He had better things to do than to quarrel with the Cardinal, he had to prepare his Musketeers and make sure they were ready to teach the Red Guards a lesson.


	3. Chapter 3

The contest was over, his Red Guards had lost. Technically, Labarge had lost, his life above all. 

Richelieu had only commissioned him into the Red Guard to ensure victory and beyond that the gruesome and public death of the Musketeer champion. Neither had happened. The first was an issue to be dealt with later, the latter ... he was thankful for. 

Richelieu had almost felt pity for the poor idiot who would face Labarge when the contest started and was morified when Tréville was revealed as the contestant. But there was nothing he could do at that moment.   
Later he tried to end it by pointing out that the contest was over as Tréville was defeated and the King stopped the chaos in the arena. While Richelieu wasn't happy that the monarch would allow a replacement fighter, he was relieved that Tréville was out of harm's way.

Richelieu had had a word with Milady afterwards and was now on his way to the tent of the Muskteers. 

Most people had vacated the premises soon after the contest was over, and if anyone wondered about his intentions he could always claim he merely wanted to congratulate the winners. No one dared stopping him however. The Musketeers had left the area to celebrate with their newest member.

Tréville was sitting on a table as Richelieu moved the tent's flaps to the side to enter.

"You've arrived sooner than expec- what do you want here?"

Tréville's demeanor changed immediately when he turned around and realized that the person who had entered wasn't the one he expected.

"How is your arm?" 

The Cardinal approached him, but Tréville moved to the side defensively. 

"How are you doing?"

"Fine," he answered brusquely, 

"I'm waiting for the doctor to arrive."

"That man isn't qualified to treat a horse! I have already sent for my doctors, they should arrive soon."

"At least he's qualified to treat more than a tummy ache."

Richelieu's eyebrows got dangerously close, his mouth opened to say something, but no words escaped him, he was speechless. 

So he turned around and left the tent, cape billowing behind him. The Cardinal nearly crashed into the two doctors who entered the tent at a fast pace. They bowed courteously and apologized profusely. He continued as if he hadn't even noticed them.

The doctors looked puzzled, Tréville beckoned them with his uninjured arm. 

Asking about his arm and sending his doctors was probably the closest to an apology the Captain would get from Richelieu. His pride wouldn't allow him to let the other man see it, but Tréville was tired of their fighting, especially after a real fight. 

Labarge was a monster, he probably should have killed him when he had the chance, but he didn't. 

For honour. 

And it nearly cost him his own life, at the very least he got his arm broken. 

What had the Cardinal called it? 'Stupidity and inconvenience'.

Tréville winced and inhaled sharply at the sudden pain in his left arm.

"Apologies, monsier, we said we'd have to move your arm."

"Were you lost in thought, monsieur?", chimed in the second doctor. His tone was nice, but Tréville suspected he was indirectly questioned if he got his head hit a little too hard.

"It's alright, let's get this over with."


	4. Chapter 4

The King looked annoyed. 

For what felt like at least ten minutes his First Minister pleaded that Tréville should undertake a mission once he had recovered and his arm was restored. He argued intensely, one could almost assume his life depended on that mission, yet it was a mere delivery. 

At least on the outside, Louis had figured out what the true purpose was, but he enjoyed having the advantage over his Minister, it didn't happen often, and to see the mental acrobatics he took to get what he wanted was entertaining. 

Not having his face betray his amusement was a challenge however. 

The real reason why Richelieu wanted him to take the mission was because it would bring Tréville to one of his estates just out of Paris and if the information Louis had received was to be believed his Minister had no matters to attend to that day. 

Would he perhaps be in said estate, too? What could those two possible be up to? 

Louis knew, and he knew the obstacles they faced and had no intention to stand in their way. Which is not to say that he couldn't enjoy keeping Richelieu dangling like this for a few minutes more before he granted permission to use his Captain of the Musketeers for an errand.


	5. Chapter 5

Tréville rolled his shoulder a few times, supported the arm with his other hand and stretched it a bit. It felt good to be finally rid of the sling. 

One of Richelieu's doctors had come by every Thursday since the contest to check on his arm, reprimand him about not taking enough care of himself and most likely proceeded to give the Cardinal a full report on his healing process. 

Tréville had avoided Richelieu as best as he could in the past few weeks, he was still angry about the escalation of the whole business , but at least it allowed D'Artagnan to prove himself to all the Musketeers and the King and thus finally earn his commission. 

He had worked as much as he could, but it was annoying that he needed help with so many things, even though it was only his left arm that got injured. 

Tréville was looking forward to doing more than just paperwork again, but the King had sent him on some delivery mission at the Cardinal's behest. That certainly wasn't what he had in mind.

Barely hiding his bad mood, the Captain of the Musketeers trudged into Richelieu's office at around nine in the morning as instructed. 

He saw the piles of paperwork on the desk and briefly remembered their wager. Should he even bother mentioning it? When he had talked to Richelieu two weeks ago and brought it up, the Cardinal had deflected the issue, claiming that the matter was in hand. 

Obviously it was not.

"Your Eminence has sent for me." Tréville said while faking a bow, barely bending forward.

It did not deter Richelieu who was unusually happy. 

"Good, you are on time." 

It took Tréville a moment to realize that the mood wasn't the only thing about him that was off. This was definately not the outfit of a Cardinal, gone was the typical red trimming, it was completey black, from the robes to the hood to the sash of watered silk. 

And it was strange and unsettling to see him like this. The Red Emience without any red.

"Shall we?", the Cardinal asked with a smile.


	6. Chapter 6

Jean awoke the next morning, as the sun shone bright on his face. It must have done so for a while but only now did his brain rouse from sleep. 

Everything around him was warm and soft and bright, he heard birds singing outside the window, a perfect Sunday morning. 

He took a deep breath and let out a low sigh, and tried to shift his head a little and move at least his eyes into a shadowy spot, the sun blinded him even with the lids closed.

'There is no window in the room facing the bed!' 

The Captain jolted up at the thought, at least he tried to, but he was held back by the weight around his chest. All he could do was tilt the head up a bit, he blinked a couple of times and looked at the surroundings. 

He clearly wasn't in his own room, that indeed did not have a window facing the bed like this. This room was vast and the walls excessively decorated. 

Arms tightened around his chest as Tréville sank back onto the bed to process what he saw, a nose snuggling into his neck, breath against his skin and the warmth of another body pressed against his back.

Armand.

He knew the Cardinal's routine. 'He must have snuck back into bed after finishing the most pressing matters', Tréville thought. 

With his back to the other man, he couldn't tell for certain if Armand was awake or alseep and he didn't want to risk waking him by turning around if the latter was the case. The Cardinal's sleep was a rare commodity. 

He didn't have to though. 

"Look who's finally awake. Did you sleep well or did you just wake from a nightmare?"

"No, it wasn't a nightmare. My apologies if I woke you." 

The breath from Armand's scoff brushed across his neck. 

"I was already awake, even before the servants started to peek in every now and then to see if we're up yet. I told them we'll let them know when we want breakfast.", he nestled into the hair at the back of Tréville's head. 

"Are you hungry?"

"Hmmmno." Jean murmured, the sun's warm light still shone on his face, lulling his mind back to sleep.

Armand changed his position a bit, sliding down further below the covers. Jean felt a hand brushing against his thigh, untying his underpants. 

Then Richelieu kissed him along the neck and shoulder as the hand moved into the opened pants and cupped him between the legs. 

It started with a slow rub, agonizingly slow even by Armand's standards, Tréville thought, and it lacked his usual efficient motions. This was more of a gentle fondling than the deliberate touches that could finish him so effortlessly. 

Occasionally he moved his hips a bit, either forward into Armand's hand or backward against his body.

Lazily Jean rolled onto his back so they could kiss, a similarly slow affair. 

He wasn't in any hurry, once they went for breakfast, Richelieu would pick up his routine from there. As long as he kept him here, he had Armand for himself.

Eventually the angle of the hand changed ever so slightly, eliciting a soft moan from Jean. Its touch became firmer and the pace a bit faster, as did Tréville's breathing. 

And soon Armand changed into the familiar rhythm. Jean could attempt to fight it, but the only thing that ever worked was, ironically enough, to impose the faster rhythm he preferred and thus disrupt Richelieu until they settled somewhere inbetween. 

Not this morning though, Jean just let him do it the way he wanted to. His breaths coming out short, mingled with long begging moans, his body tense, shuddering, it was over all too soon. 

While Jean calmed his breathing, he felt Armand detangle to fetch a piece of cloth from the night table to wipe him clean. 

Always clean, no blemishes allowed.


	7. Chapter 7

Richelieu resumed his position next to Tréville again, brushing absentmindedly through the Captain's chest hair.

"Hmmmnnn …", Jean said, as his mind drifted off. 

The warmth of a cozy morning and the after-effects of orgasm were a dangerous combination.

"Hmmm?", Richelieu mimicked inquisitively.

"I'm glad His Eminence could pry Himself away from His work and come back to bed.", he took Armand's hand from his chest and kissed the finger in soft mockery.

"I hardly deserve such praise."

"Oh, you do, I know how much you love your routine and the work in the morning when the day is still fresh."

Armand leaned in closely for a moment, with his mouth to Jean's ear, as if he didn't want anyone else to hear the confession of laziness: "I haven't left the bed yet." 

"No work. It is what you named as your prize."

"Not really," Jean answered drowsily, "I asked you to clear your desk so we could ... you know." 

He chuckled. 

"It was still cluttered when we left, but this is nice, too."

Armand's eyebrows arched in confusion, he was thinking.

So did Jean now, and as the thoughts formed, the blood drained from his face. 

Armand hadn't left for work. 

As Tréville mentally went through the day before, it became clear that he hadn't left his side at all since they meet in the Cardinal's office. 

They rode together to the estate, had dinner, went for a walk through the nearby woods, had supper and retired to the study before leaving for bed. They had talked for hours, catching up on all they had missed.  
And from what Richelieu had told him last night, today was planned similarly, breakfast, another walk if possible and then the ride back to Paris. 

Tréville hadn't believed it at the time, always waiting for Richelieu to steal away and get the work done he had come here for.

Now Jean realized there was no work to be done, he hadn't just been asked to come along because it was convenient or because they could more easily get a few private moments at the estate, surrounded by some of the most loyal servants Richelieu had, safe for the inner circle in the Palais-Cardinal perhaps. 

Richelieu had cleared his schedule for the span of a day, slightly more even. No appointments, no meetings, no audiences, no letters to be written, no contracts to be signed, nothing but the time he spent with the Captain of the Musketeers. 

The blood surged back, leaving his face and chest burning with shame.

It wasn't the prize he had asked for. It was a gift. One beyond value. Immeasurable. 

He felt undeserving, and he had messed up. Perhaps if he hadn't said anything, it might not have been so bad, but now Richelieu knew. And he could measure the discrepancy between what was asked of him and what he had granted. Wasted on him. 

If he rode back to Paris now in all haste, if he could speak to the King and beg for his immediate relief of duty, if he returned to Troisville never to be seen again, keeping out of his sight, perhaps the Cardinal would see fit to spare his life. 

Jean closed his eyes, shut them tight, he wanted to disappear.

What could have been decided in the hours since they left yesterday? 

A man could have been sentenced to death or pardoned. Contracts could have been signed that bound nations together or split them apart for years to come, the weight of what could have been done rested heavy on him now and to think that all he had asked for was to -–

"Fuck me ...?", it wasn't really a question. 

"Fuck me on my desk. That's what you wanted?"

Tréville couldn't quite make out what the noise afterwards was. A scoff? A laugh? He felt Armand's weight shift next to him and when he dared open his eyes, Richelieu lay on his back, an arm across his face. 

His mind rushed to find the proper words, an explanation, an apology, something to say to soothe the anger the Cardinal must feel. 

Tréville opened his mouth to talk, but whatever he said was droned out by Armand's sudden outburst of laughter. His chest heaving, he laughed until he needed to stop for air. 

But Tréville's second attempt to say something didn't go far either, because after a few gasps, Armand laughed again, louder and more resounding than before, mixed with giggles. 

Had he gone mad? Tréville wondered, was this what finally tipped him over? 

He leaned over Armand, worry on his face for the man beneath him. 

Richelieu stopped laughing eventually, quick breaths as he tried to get his breathing under control again, wiping tears from his eyes. He reached for Tréville's face above his own, his hand resting on the cheek, burning Jean's skin where they touched. 

"I have a desk here, too.", he stated, his voice sultry.

Embarassed, Tréville looked away. It wasn't just about a desk, it was about the desk. 

Armand stroked the tip of Jean's beard with his thumb, he must have read his thoughts. 

"Not the desk you had in mind?"

Tréville groaned, he couldn't deal with the sitation anymore. Now that the fear of his immediate fate had left him and the tension slowly eased up, he sagged down, resting his head on Armand's chest, who started to gentry stroke his hair. 

This morning proved to be a challenge, the abrupt and extreme change in emotions had drained him, but at least Richelieu wasn't angry at him.

"I think I'd like some breakfast now …"

Armand smirked.


	8. Chapter 8

The Cardinal and the Captain of the Musketeers arrived at the Palais-Cardinal shortly before noon.

Tréville's mood had improved during breakfast, most of all he was relieved to see that Armand carried no ill will because of the whole affair and misinterpretation of what their wager was meant to be. 

Jean wanted to head back to the garrison, but Armand insisted that they return to his office first, the beginning and end of their little excursion.

As they entered Tréville noticed the empty desk, empty except for a single scroll, and Richelieu looked at it as if it had personally offended him in the worst way imaginable. 

He strolled over and gave it a flick with the finger, it rolled unevenly across the desk and rested for a moment at the edge, before the imbalance of weight tipped it over and it fell to the ground. 

Armand turned around, his arms stretched out to support him on the desk as he leaned against it with his back. He gave it a few taps with one hand.

Tréville chuckled as he moved closer, they kissed, only breaking away when they needed to breathe again.

There was a surprised gasp from Richelieu when Tréville swiftly pulled him up and dropped him on the desk. Most of the buttons on the lower part of the robes were still open from when they were riding, Jean undid the sash around the Cardinal's waist and opened up a few more of the buttons for better access.

They resumed kissing while Tréville rubbed Armand's privates through the fabric until he could feel him straining against the cloth, a simpler cloth than his usual pants, Tréville noticed, unlike the pants Richelieu usually wore, this pair had no intricate pattern. 

It didn't matter, pattern or no pattern, Jean pulled at the pants and undid the laces of the underwear, Armand let out a sigh of relief. He shifted and spread his legs apart further to give Jean more room, who had positioned himself in front of him. 

Tréville started with a few teasing licks and kisses.

They still had time …

Fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading
> 
> hope you enjoyed the soft smut :3


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